The Message
2013 Words
The black sedan moved through the Obsidian Bay night, a dark blur against the opulent glow of the city's central district. Kaelen sat in the back, silent and motionless. Lyric Chen drove, her focus split between the winding streets and the multiple threat feeds scrolling across the tablet mounted on the dashboard.
"Magnus’s contract is attracting serious attention," Lyric said, her voice clipped. "The price is climbing. Seventy-five million now. But those are the general contracts. We have a specific problem on our tail."
"Holt," Kaelen stated, his eyes still closed.
"Exactly," Lyric confirmed. "Damien Holt pulled three teams from his private security firm, Cerberus Group. They aren’t freelancers looking for a paycheck. They are loyalists. They know this city and they know his temper. They want to be the ones to deliver your head to save his future merger."
"How many?"
"Two vehicles. A lead van and a backup sedan. Six men total. Heavy weaponry but limited tactical training for this environment. They expected a quick snatch and grab."
Kaelen finally opened his eyes. He looked through the windshield, watching the concrete canyons of the business district give way to the grimier, industrial area near the docks. This area was known as The Underbelly, a warren of warehouses and abandoned factories.
"Take the next off-ramp," Kaelen instructed. "I am tired of being hunted."
"That takes us into the old shipping yards," Lyric countered. "It’s a network of dead-end alleys under the rail lines. Perfect for an ambush, but terrible for escape."
"I am not interested in escaping," Kaelen said. "I am interested in sending a precise message."
Lyric glanced in the rearview mirror, her sharp features set in a grim expression. She slowed the sedan, veered sharply onto the crumbling asphalt of an access road, and drove deep into the shadow of a massive concrete bridge support. She slammed the brakes and the car came to an abrupt, dusty stop in an alley choked with rusted shipping containers.
The location was pitch black except for a sickly yellow light pooling from a broken warehouse window fifty yards away. The air smelled of diesel and salt.
"We are exposed," Lyric said, her hand resting near the modified rifle tucked beneath her seat. "What is the play?"
"Stay in the car," Kaelen ordered. He straightened his cheap tuxedo jacket. "They need to see me alone."
He opened the car door and stepped into the dim light. He stood in the center of the alley, a motionless silhouette against the faint glow of the city filtering from above the concrete supports. He did not pull a weapon. He merely waited.
The ambush was textbook Holt.
Less than ten seconds later, the low rumble of engines echoed off the buildings. The lead van and the backup sedan roared into the alley from opposite ends, trapping Kaelen between them. The vehicles killed their headlights as they slid to a stop, plunging the scene into near-total darkness.
Doors opened simultaneously. Six men, dressed in black tactical gear and Kevlar vests, poured out. They moved with coordinated efficiency, raising their suppressed automatic rifles.
"Kaelen Voss," the lead man, designated 'Cerberus One,' growled. His voice was muffled by his headset mic. "Drop to your knees. Hands on your head. Make this clean."
Kaelen remained standing. His posture was relaxed, almost bored.
"Damien Holt sent you?" Kaelen asked.
"He sent us to collect a debt," Cerberus One snapped. "Do not complicate this. We are authorized lethal force."
"Tell Mr. Holt I am not available for collection," Kaelen said. His voice was calm, cutting through the tense air. "And tell him he should have paid more for better men."
Cerberus One swore and gave the order. "Take him down!"
The night erupted in movement.
Kaelen blurred.
He did not dodge the first spray of suppressing fire. He moved into it. He used the muzzle flash to guide his attack. The moment the first rifle spat fire, Kaelen was already closing the distance.
In the first five seconds, he reached the nearest man. He did not punch. He used the momentum of the man's own weapon swing, caught the rifle barrel, and leveraged the man's weight. A sickening crack of bone followed as the man's elbow was shattered at an impossible angle. The rifle clattered uselessly to the concrete.
Kaelen spun, dropping low to avoid a high sweep from Cerberus Two. He used a foot sweep to take the man’s legs out, driving his knee into the man's ribs as he fell, ensuring at least three fractures.
The remaining four men scrambled, trying to adjust their aim in the shadows. They had trained for standing targets, not human demolition.
Kaelen disappeared into the surrounding containers. He used the metallic echoes and the sound of frantic footsteps to track their positions. He reappeared behind Cerberus Three. He applied pressure to the base of the man’s skull, a precise, paralyzing maneuver. The assassin went down, his body twitching uncontrollably, his rifle discharging harmlessly into the sky.
Cerberus Four and Five tried to create distance, backing toward the van. Kaelen threw the disarmed rifle he had just acquired. It spun end-over-end and struck Cerberus Four squarely on the temple, knocking him unconscious instantly.
Cerberus Five, panicking, raised his rifle to full auto. Kaelen moved faster than the rounds. He closed the gap, grabbed the weapon, and tore it from the man’s hands with a wrenching motion that dislocated the shoulder. Cerberus Five screamed, the sound muffled by his tactical gear.
In under thirty seconds, five of the six highly-trained operatives were incapacitated, broken and unconscious.
Only Cerberus One remained. He had backed against the van, his rifle still raised, shaking violently. He stared at the destruction, his team members sprawled, moaning, or silent and saw not a man, but a force of nature.
Kaelen walked toward him. He was completely composed, his tuxedo barely ruffled. He stopped a foot away from the final assassin.
"Put the gun down," Kaelen said. His voice was low and devoid of emotion.
Cerberus One hesitated, sweat dripping into his eyes. He lowered the rifle slowly until the barrel pointed at the ground.
"You are the messenger," Kaelen stated. "You are the only one leaving here whole. You will go back to Damien Holt."
Kaelen leaned in, his face close to the assassin's ear. "Tell him that I do not bluff. Tell him that the men I warned him about in Jakarta died slower than this."
He backed away, ensuring the assassin was looking directly at him.
"You are working for a dead man," Kaelen concluded. "If you value your life, you will disappear before sunrise. My fight is with the Holts and the Marlowes. Tell Damien to withdraw his proposal, apologize to my wife, and leave this city. He has twenty-four hours left."
Kaelen turned and walked back to the sedan without looking back. He was halfway to the car when Cerberus One dropped his rifle, stumbled into the van, and started the engine, leaving his broken teammates behind in a desperate, screeching retreat.
Kaelen slid into the black sedan. Lyric immediately put the car into drive.
"You took thirty-two seconds," Lyric observed, pulling out of the alley. "Slower than usual. And you used zero lethal force. Weakness, Architect?"
Kaelen adjusted his tie. "No. I need the bodies found. I need the terror to be precise. Magnus will be watching the news. Damien needs to be watching his back."
"Message received," Lyric conceded. She hit the gas. "Next stop: The Underbelly.”
- Writer
